The Northman's Squire
by MissyMaestro
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen is no dummy. She's known for years that her general was in love with her. With the war nearly won, she assigns a northern fighter to squire for Jorah Mormont and hopes she'll win his affection.


Jorah looked the woman up and down. Instead of a revealing gown, she wore leather and wool. Her long hair was tied back in a braid. What more the girl did besides entertain men puzzled him. Instead of long, willowy limbs like most of the prostitutes he'd seen, this woman had thick, strong legs and toned arms. The only feminine thing about her was her pretty face.

"Your Grace," Jorah murmured to Daenerys Targaryen, "I don't need a girl."

"I'm not a girl," the brunette snarled. "I'm a soldier." Her head whipped round and she looked to the queen for guidance.

"Your squire," Daenerys added eagerly, studying his reaction. "A Westerosi custom, is it not? Every great knight should have someone to look after his errands and gear." She beamed. "She is a northerner. Aren't you pleased? I promised you a good many things, and this is only the start. Before war's end you'll have a Valyrian blade and more."

A warmth spread in his neck and Jorah quickly bowed to the woman, completely humiliated. "My apologies, m'lady." When he turned back to the queen, she was smirking handsomely. "It's been some time since I had a squire," Jorah nodded. "If you have need for her elsewhere, please-"

"I'll serve you well enough, my lord," the woman cut in. "I know you. I remember the day you left Bear Island. It was raining, turning to ice. The yellow haired woman was complaining, but that was nothing new." Her amber eyes flashed as Jorah stared at her in wonder. "You wore a gray cloak as dreary as the day."

Memories flooded back. They smell of the ship they boarded, the annoying coldness of the rain, how the resentment had already crept into Lynesse's voice. Jorah stared at the woman before him. "How could you recall? You're much too young."

"Battle keeps me young," she smirked. The woman bowed her head. "Gemma Crayhill, Lord Mormont."

Jorah stiffened. "Crayhill?"

Daenerys cleared her throat. "You know each other, then? The North is far smaller than I thought, it seems." She looked uncertainly between the two. "I thought you might get on well. Is there more of a connection between you?"

"Aye," Gemma nodded. "We were to wed when I came of age. The former Lord Mormont made the agreement with my father in exchange for some great sum of land. You can imagine his disappointment when Ser Jorah returned home with the southern bride."

"I assure you I was delivered my justice through that woman," Jorah muttered. "She utterly ruined my life." He bowed his head. "My apologies, Gemma. Though you seem a fit soldier. Life has not treated you poorly."

"No, quite the opposite," Gemma replied. "And now Her Grace brought me into her service to squire for you. Strange how things turn out, eh?"

"Strange indeed," Jorah muttered, raising an eyebrow at Daenerys, who was now beaming.

"Are you pleased? I meant to reward you with every luxury you had in Westeros."

Unable to disappoint her, Jorah nodded. "Every Westerosi knight does have a squire, sometimes multiple. Thank you, Your Grace."

"I'll be off then," the queen declared. "Gemma, do take care of Ser Jorah. He's my closest and most trusted companion."

* * *

Battle against Cersei's forces raged on and on. Another squabble won, Jorah flung off his helm and powered through his exhaustion to his tent. He nearly passed it, were it not for the bear sigil flying near the flaps. A merry fire crackled before him, and a hare roasted on a spit. The scene surprised him; his camp hadn't been prepared for him after battle in ages.

"You look no worse for the wear," the woman tending the flames announced. "I'd only just returned from your errand when I heard the horns." Gemma poked moodily at the coals. "Missed my first chance to get at those golden cunts. Oh," she added hastily, "and to serve you in battle, m'lord."

Jorah sat next to her on the makeshift log bench. "You'll have your fill of blood and blows soon enough."

"Hare's only just gone on, I'm afraid." Gemma set to unstrapping his breastplate.

"I can manage," Jorah replied sheepishly, scooting away from her. "Thank you. Had I known the rebels were so close, I wouldn't have sent you. A squire's place is by his-"

" _Her_ knight. I'm well aware. You know the customs of Bear Island." Gemma rolled her eyes and reached out again. "Were I fighting there, I'd have my _own_ squire."

He caught her hand and held it by the wrist. "I can manage. Battle beside me. That's all I truly require of you. I'm not a young man anymore. I need the aid on the battlefield, not in my tent."

With a smirk, Gemma reached for her sword and swung it at Jorah. In a split second, the knight had ducked away from the blow and drawn his own blade. Steel rang out, momentarily quieting the camp.

"Perhaps you're not a young man," Gemma shrugged, sheathing her sword, "but you fight better than them." She reached for his armor once more and he sighed and nodded to her. "Quit acting like you're an elder. You're not. Besides," she continued as her fingers deftly unbuckled and unlaced his leather, "as I see it, you owe me this position. How easy to win glory and my own knighthood if I serve you. She said it herself; you're the queen's most-trusted companion." She removed his spaulders from his upper arms and reached down to his thigh for his cuisse. Jorah shifted and Gemma smiled wolfishly up at him. "Been a while since you've had a woman here?"

He mumbled something and blushed. Her hands flitted about his thighs and inadvertently brushed against his groin as she removed his armor and he focused on anything but her touch.

"You'll do well to get used to my hands on you," Gemma warned him. "I've got no time for a skittish knight. Plus, I'd like to think you'd be comfortable enough to tear off my breastplate should I befall some injury." She looked up to him, hand resting high on his thigh with a wicked smirk at her lips. "We could certainly practice undressing each other."

"That's enough," Jorah choked, standing and striding into the tent.

"Oh, come back," Gemma groaned, chasing him into the tent. "It's only a bit of fun." She placed his armor back in its trunk as he washed his face, arms, and chest in a basin. "Forgive me, m'lord. I forget my courtly graces. You'll recall things are much less formal on Bear Island." She rolled up her sleeves and also washed.

"They are," Jorah nodded. He turned and took in the sight of her. Gemma was no young woman, that was true. She'd seen her fair share of battle. A deep red scar at her shoulder told of a close call and her toned muscles everywhere he'd seen boasted her prowess.

"You'll recall the only woman I have accompanied in the past ten years is the queen. She has much different mannerisms than a House Mormont woman."

Gemma nodded. "I'll not just shine your armor; I'll remind you of home. I promise you that."

* * *

Jorah awoke with a start. A nightmare sent his heart racing and sweat soaking through his sleeping clothes. He opened his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

Soft sounds caught his attention, but it worried him none. Squires shared tents with their knights and Gemma often stirred at night and did things by candlelight. Tonight was different. She wasn't reading or writing, but standing in lantern light, unabashedly nude, braiding her long auburn hair. Steam rose from a small bath tub and she stepped into it, hissing softly at the burning heat. Water sloshed against the metal tub softly and Gemma began to hum a song Jorah remembered from Bear Island.

Embarrassed and aroused, Jorah pressed his eyes shut. The woman deserved her privacy and the only time she could get it was when he was sleeping. Temptation pulled at him and victored over his chivalry. Shamefully, he opened his eyes to watch her. She rolled her head in small circles to stretch her neck and reached upward, breaking her song to groan in pleasure. Her breasts bobbed in the water and Jorah struggled to remain still.

"I know you're awake," Gemma suddenly called. "You snore when you sleep. Now it's silent."

Jorah's breath caught in his chest. "Forgive me. I had no intention of embarrassing you."

Gemma shrugged. "You've seen a woman before. I'm not ashamed of my body. It's strong and has served me well." She grinned and raised an eyebrow. "And these tits are enough to make a man come just by looking. Wouldn't you agree?"

As she laughed, Jorah cleared his throat and rolled over. "Enjoy your bath," he said.

"I'd enjoy it more if my lord joined me. Not so many years ago, that was our fate." The water sloshed once more. "Look upon me. I felt your gaze in the dark. I _liked_ it."

Jorah squeezed his eyes shut and ignored the throbbing in his abdomen. "The queen assigned you as my squire, nothing more. I'll not disobey her orders." _Besides_ , he thought, _I've loved Daenerys for years. Taking a woman in my bed after a month? Too soon._ As much as he wanted the woman, it seemed that giving in to her would cheapen his adoration of the queen.

Gemma sighed. "I'm afraid you've lost your northern fire, Jorah. Don't worry. We'll get it back. But if you won't join me, I'll just have to take care of things myself."

The soft sloshing of the water and Gemma's sultry moans were enough to make Jorah grit his teeth and slowly stroke himself, making absolutely certain to be silent. When laughter bubbled from her lips and the water quieted, Jorah allowed himself to open an eye.

Gemma was panting and clutching the sides of the tub. "Mmm," she hummed as she stood and reached for a towel. Her wet body shone in the lantern light and Jorah stifled a groan. Giggling, Gemma dried off and dressed. "Good night, my lord. I do hope you'll be able to sleep. Your snoring is quite comforting."

* * *

Battle raged. Gemma saw the Lannister soldier raise his sword and lunge toward her knight. She pressed her heels into her horse and galloped him down. His blade skidded off of Jorah's armor, and he fell dead with Gemma's spear in his back. Jorah spun, stunned. He was rarely struck in melees with the poorly trained Lannister soldier boys. He nodded to Gemma, who barely cast him a glance before she rode off to assist another of the Targaryen forces.

That night in the Mormont tent, Gemma unbuckled his armor, then her own. "Are you pleased with my squiring, yet, m'lord?"

"Yes," Jorah breathed. "Gemma, you saved my life." He peeled off his sweaty shirt and sat back against a post. "He would have taken my head off."

"Aye, I saved your life." Her gaze dropped down his body. "I'd say it's a squire's job, but we both know that's not the truth."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "I owe you a great deal. You'll have your knighthood on the morrow. I'll tell the queen of your deeds."

"Then if this is my last night with you, I'll have it be a memorable one." Her tones had turned sultry and Jorah opened his eyes immediately. Gemma pulled off her own sweaty tunic and kicked off her boots. She straddled his lap. "I've served you and tempted you, nursed your wounds and saddled your mount. You don't even look at me." She took Jorah's hands and put them on her breasts. "You were to be my husband. Why should I beg?"

He stared at her bare torso and practically salivated. His fingers trailed down her side. She was sinewy and strong. _You are an old man. She's young and beautiful. Leave her be. It's nothing but the rush of battle._ "Gemma," he breathed. "I'll see you raised to knighthood. You need not-"

"This isn't about my station," Gemma scoffed. "It's about how you have such love for your queen that you don't see the islander before you. I watched my future husband marry a worthless southerner. Now I watch him pine after the dragon queen. She loves you only as a father. I'll love you as a man." She pressed her lips against the side of his neck.

Goosebumps rose along his skin as she dragged her fingernails down his back. A soft moan issued from his throat. "You are young. This camp is full of young men. You deserve-"

"Not that young," Gemma cut him off with a smile. "I'm older than your queen by years. The cold northern air has preserved my youth and beauty. You won't talk me out of wanting you. And you know how the women of Bear Island are when they set their mind to something. Or have you forgotten?"

"Remind me," Jorah breathed. His mind flickered between Daenerys, Lynesse, and now Gemma, fierce and loyal, his personal savior. Longing was all he had known, but to hear that someone felt the same after him was jarring.

"A northerner loves best to fuck after a battle," she whispered as she nipped at his ear. "The women aren't done up in lace and jewels. They swing swords and wear leather, then they lure generals and queensguards into tents and have their way as victory courses through them." Her hand had found his swollen member and massaged it. "Now's the time to decide. Are you the queen's pet or are you a man of the north?"

 _Pine trees. Brisk air that stung your cheeks in the morning._ Far _off, a grizzly roaring. Stars brighter than anywhere else in the world. Salty sea air. The wild look in Gemma's eye, different, so different than any other than a northern woman._

In one swift move Jorah stood and lifted Gemma from the ground. Her legs snaked around his waist as he squeezed her ass. His tongue found hers and for the first time in years Jorah remembered what it was that made him a northman. Suddenly Gemma was moaning and clinging to his shoulders, writhing and crying out in pleasure. The shame of exile and sensitivity of serving a young queen fell away. Excitement and freedom roiled through his veins and Jorah laughed aloud, silently thanking Gemma for her stubborn insistence.

Now it was his turn to whisper at her ear.

 _"_ I'm Lord Mormont of Bear Island. You'll obey my command."


End file.
